


Ashes and Truth

by BookishPower



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Spoilers for episode five, an emotional resolution, can someone find Dany and Jaime's lost character arcs, kind Tyrion, post-The Bells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishPower/pseuds/BookishPower
Summary: In the ashes of King's Landing, Tyrion attempts to heal the emotional wounds inflicted by his family. Specifically, wounds inflicted on Ser Brienne.





	Ashes and Truth

**Author's Note:**

> So...that episode happened.
> 
> I'm gearing up to write something that might rework Season Eight into something other than this shambling, red-eyed Mountain that we've been presented with.
> 
> I'm not saying that what Tyrion does in this fic is right. But I do think it might be a kindness, something Westeros seems to be short on at present.

The stench of charcoal in the air did not leave Kings' Landing for months. It was a perpetual raw taste in the back of Tyrion's throat as he worked to rebuild a semblance of order in the Seven Kingdoms. It was a constant reminder of everything he'd gotten wrong, of all the faith he'd put in others to do the right thing.

But perhaps that was the crux of it. Stop relying on others to write the legends and songs. Write your own.

Tyrion had begun composing his own dirge the night before King's Landing was destroyed. He hummed the opening cords in the aftermath, as he, Jon Stark, and Ser Davos had begun organizing rescue operations amidst the rubble. Not that the smallfolk of King's Landing were in any rush to accept aid from those who had just razed their home, let alone a singing dwarf. But he could direct maesters and supplies, organize temporary housing.

He waited to hear a summons to execution, his ears trained for the stamp of boots while the dead were counted. Queen Daenerys settled into an icy, ominous silence on the Iron Throne, which had somehow survived the destruction.

Tyrion also held out hope. Had Jaime made it out, with or without their hated sister?

That small hope was dashed some days later, as rubble was cleared and the bodies of his siblings were unearthed. Cersei was identified by her crown, Jaime by his golden hand. Cersei's body had been examined closely – Daenerys wanted to make sure she was dead, that no potential rival escaped over the waves to rebuild and rise again.

She hadn't been pregnant. That came as something of a surprise to Tyrion. But the maesters, examining her in death, found a growth in her innards. 

That discovery was more bitter than any ashes in the back of his throat. All they need have done was waited, let the dragon heal, let the soldiers recover, let scouts examine King's Landing and its defenses. Cersei would have been dead in a few months' time. The dragon would have lived, the Golden Company departed, Missandei stayed at the side of her Grey Worm, Sansa's revelation tempered, Varys alive.

Jaime would have stayed north, been happy, training Stark soldiers by the side of his lovely lady knight. Tyrion had left Winterfell imagining them adventuring through the North, living and loving as only two knights could.

But Daenerys had insisted, and they sped things up, hurtled forward into history like a flaming mortar.

Jaime's body was less interesting to the maesters. He'd taken mortal stab wounds to the side prior to his death, was found with his hand at his sister's throat. The maesters shook their heads and could not tell if he'd strangled Cersei or not. 

Daenerys seemed less interested in the details, just that Cersei was dead, and King's Landing was hers. Tyrion waited for death, knowing that she would eventually remember that Jaime had been sitting as prisoner in a tent inside the Stark camp prior to the battle.

But noble Jon Snow decided, at last, to leave nobility aside.

The knife in Daenerys's heart came as a relief to nearly everyone. 

Now, Tyrion worked to build something new. In the absence of kings and queens, he was fashioning a collective council. Kingdoms were worried about sending what leaders they had left, and envoys passed in and out of the ruins. 

Lady Sansa didn't bother with envoys, coming south on the Kingsroad with the confidence of her mother, accompanied by several Stark bannermen. Tyrion welcomed her formally, warily, not sure what to say even as he beheld her cool assessment of the ruins of King's Landing. 

Then his eyes turned up, beholding Ser Brienne for the first time in months.

Jaime had left his mark on her in their time at Winterfell. Tyrion saw the tall woman glow with confidence and resolve at the honor he'd given her. Later, in the aftermath of their drinking games, he'd seen her luminous with something else entirely, explaining away her blushes as heat from the fire, bruises on her neck as sparring injuries, relaxed among their company. Jaime had been the same, breathless as a cunny-struck page, his eyes following Brienne about Winterfell, smiling and laughing with more ease than Tyrion had ever known him.

Jaime's absence leaves a mark on her as well. Outwardly, the lady knight's expression is blank, trained on Lady Sansa. But the joyful marks on her neck seem to have moved deep wounds below her eyes. She is thinner below her armor, her shoulders set with determination. She's a knight, and she must endure this.

Tyrion goes over the outlines of the Westerosi Alliance he hopes to enact. Lady Sansa's cooperation on this is vital, and there are large concessions that will maintain the North's independence. They go over trade agreements, articles of common defense, what to do with criminals now that the Wall is no longer an option. Jon Snow may have taken the black again, but he's really just wandering the North aimlessly.

He can't help it, his eyes keep straying to Ser Brienne.

“And the Kingslayer? We heard he had died some time ago.”

The knight's eyes dart up for the briefest moment, meeting his own. Tyrion saw a world of pain in those remarkable eyes, one that mirrored his own. 

He hesitates.

“My brother died in the Keep,” he bit out shortly. 

Sansa examines his face closely. He knows that she knows he is keeping back some details. But she doesn't press further. 

Ser Brienne's eyes are fixed on the tabletop, and Tyrion can see her jaw tight as a bowstring.

“Shall we meet again tomorrow?” Sansa speaks again, and his attention returns to her. 

“We shall, my lady. The delegation from Dorne is due in, as is Lady Greyjoy. If all goes well, we should sup together.”

“Where, my lord?” Sansa says, acerbic to the end. “In the ruins of the Sept, or the ruins of the Keep?” It's a painful barb, but Tyrion lets it pass. She was right, after all, and she'd done her best to warn them.

“We shall dine in the swordmaker's guildhall on the Street of Swords,” he answered neutrally. “It escaped most damage.”

Sansa nods, and stands to take her leave. Ser Brienne and the bannermen stand as well, ready to return to the Stark camps.

“Lady Sansa, if I might borrow Ser Brienne for a private moment? I have some news of the Payne family that she might want to convey to her squire.”

Sansa's not fooled, but nods. “I will seek out my sister. She is in the camp?”

“When she wants to be.” Tyrion shrugs one shoulder. He's got enough on his plate without attempting to keep track of the younger Stark. Arya is in and out, underfoot, then miles away.

Sansa nodded, and Tyrion bowed her out. 

When he was certain that she and her bannermen were out of earshot from the tent, Tyrion turned to the knight, standing at attention. 

“Should I send for my squire?” she asked. Her voice, low and sweet, sounded rough to his ears, either with tears shed or unshed.

“No,” Tyrion said, gesturing her over to a more comfortable seat by the small fire. “There's not much news to tell of the Payne family. That's not exactly why I wanted to talk to you.”

Brienne's face hardens, and Tyrion knows that she is bracing herself for the blow. 

“I wished to speak of my brother,” he continues, pouring a glass of wine and pressing it into her hand, then pouring one for himself. “I believe you and I are the only ones alive who will grieve for him.”

“He is dead, then?” Brienne rasps. 

Tyrion tilts his head, regards her. “He is. I burned his pyre myself.”

“How...” she attempts, then shakes her head. “I am sorry, Lord Tyrion. I should not presume.”

“You should presume,” Tyrion said. “You have the right to this. You have every right.”

Brienne sighs, puts down the cup. He sees her hand move on the hilt of her sword, but it's not a threatening gesture. Her fingers squeeze against the engravings...and he realizes for the first time that she is carrying a sword with Lannister embellishments. 

_Jaime, again._

“How did he die?” she asks.

“We found him in the tunnels underneath the Keep, underneath collapsed rubble. His hands were around Cersei's throat. He'd also taken several deep wounds to his side.”

Squeezing those words from his throat had been difficult, but these next ones would be harder.

“We can only surmise that he was in the act of killing Cersei when the collapsing Keep overtook them both,” he finishes. 

He chances a look at the knight, and sees her face twist into a question. “He went to King's Landing to kill her?”

“He was captured attempting to cross the lines into King's Landing by the Unsullied troops. I released him in secret to attempt to get Cersei out of King's Landing, one way or another. He thought he might be the only one she would let close enough. Told him to ring the bells if he succeeded. In the end, though...the bells didn't matter to Daenerys.”

The woman breathes out a sob. 

“I found a dinghy for them to get out. I knew he'd want to keep the child. But the maesters examined Cersei's body. She was not with child.”

He doesn't know if Jaime knew this, or indeed, Cersei. But he knows the kind of pain this woman is enduring. Knows it well.

Tyrion pulls out a handkerchief for Brienne, whose tears are slipping down her freckled cheeks like rain.

“I wanted you to know this because we spoke in his prison tent the night before. The _only_ reasons he left Winterfell – left you - were to preserve his child's life and stop Cersei from slaughtering the city.” 

Brienne puts a fist over her mouth to stifle her sobs, and Tyrion can no longer take it.

“Cry, my lady,” he says. “Cry, and I shall weep with you. No one else will mourn his passing but us.”

Brienne's face crumples, and Tyrion, overstepping the bounds of decorum but not of sentiment, sobs and embraces her around her neck. 

They sit there beside the fire, holding one another and sobbing into each other's shoulders. She moans, and he keens to her pain. In some part of himself, Tyrion knows they would look ridiculous to the outside world, the tall woman and the dwarf in an embrace, howling out their grief. But everything has become ridiculous of late. 

They hold each other through the storm of their grief, mourning the imperfect man who had so often been perfect to them. Eventually, tears dry, and breathing returns to normal.

“I wanted you to know, because I've never seen my brother happier than when he was with you. He could be such a cynic...but I've never seen him stumble for words or make some stupid attempt at charm. He didn't leave you for Cersei. He left for his child and the people of King's Landing.”

“There's nothing more... _hateful_...than failing to protect the ones you love,” Brienne says, and it seemed to Tyrion that she was echoing words spoken between herself and someone else. 

“I believe he would include you in that, Ser.” He knows her title is sweeter to her on other people's tongues because of who gave it to her.

Her tears fall again.

“Ser Brienne, I don't wish to be forward, but given the love between yourself and my brother...are you in any kind of difficulty?” She looks confused for a moment, but a nod at her belly brings her to understanding.

“No, my lord,” she replies, not blushing, but wiping the tears away roughly. “I took care, given that war could come back at any time. Now...”

Tyrion nods, and he doesn't know whether to be pleased or to regret this bit of information. A look at Brienne's face says that she feels the same.

“I would have called you my sister someday, I know,” he says. “And I know you have Tarth to call upon, but any assistance you might ever need, I am your servant.”

A slight smile touches Brienne's lips, and Tyrion sees the radiance in her face once again. “I should be honored to call you brother, my lord. In truth, I think you and I are one of the few that might understand each other's difficulty in the world.”

 

********

 

They mourn a bit longer, speak of Jaime's habits and foibles. He tells her stories of Jaime as a squire, she tells him stories of when Jaime was her prisoner, and when he jumped into a bear pit to attempt a rescue. She tells him of Oathkeeper, the sword belted at her side, and once again, Tyrion wishes he'd shaken some sense into his brother that night outside King's Landing. Not even Cersei knew the whole tale.

He likes the idea of the Tarth knight as his sister. He's grown short on family of late, and Brienne is correct. Cripples, dwarfs, tall women, bastards – none of them have an easy road in life. Perhaps life would be better if they banded together.

Brienne takes her leave, and Tyrion pours himself another cup of wine. The Knight of Tarth looked significantly brighter and more at ease when she bids him farewell, and he invites her back that evening to sup.

_She'll be all right_ , Tyrion thinks. _She'll dust herself off and continue on with life. This war won't claim her as a victim. I won't let that happen._

A noise behind him, and Tyrion turns.

“Lie.”

Arya Stark, always nearby. He should have guessed that she wouldn't miss a chance to overhear her sister's negotiations. But he'd lied about nothing when he spoke to Sansa about the Westerosi future.

“What?”

“To Ser Brienne. You lied to her.”

“Oh.” He finds an empty cup. “Wine?”

She nods, and takes a seat where Brienne had earlier been.

“I can tell when someone's lying.”

“It wasn't exactly a lie, Lady Arya.”

“Leave off with the 'lady'.”

“Fine. But leave off Ser Brienne.”

Arya smirks, takes a sip. “Fine. But why?”

Tyrion inhales, stares into his cup.

“Arya, I know you're walking a path of your own. I know that others would have put you on another path, but you have an advantage.”

“I worked for that advantage,” she snipes, and he realizes the misunderstanding. 

“Not that,” he replied. “You're beautiful. You're the right size. People like Ser Brienne and I...our lots in life and in love can be difficult in this cruel world. I was married, once, before your sister. Thought I was saving a pretty girl from highwaymen, wedded her, bedded her, then was told that she was actually a prostitute hired to fool me.” 

His throat tightens painfully over the old memory. “Then I found out later that it was a ruse. She truly loved me. My father just didn't want me marrying a commoner.”

Arya looked down into her own cup. 

“I can't say for certain what happened in the tunnels under the Keep. I don't know. I do know that Jaime was here for his family. He would have done anything for his children. And I know he loved Ser Brienne. 

“And he is dead now, and cannot answer any questions about what he would have or would not have done. He doesn't get to be a father. Brienne doesn't have her first love any more. When my first wife was taken, I was broken-hearted. But I wasn't truly broken until I'd found out that she'd actually loved me, and I'd spent years hating her, every good memory soured by the bad.” He paused.

He can't continue down this path, a path that leads to bloodied bedsheets, golden necklaces, and crossbows.

He set down his cup, facing the Stark girl with a challenge in his eyes. “Jaime Lannister loved Brienne of Tarth, and she him. No matter what happened next, no matter what stupid decisions he made afterward, that is an indisputable fact.”

Arya holds his gaze. “Truth.”

Tyrion nods. “Don't lessen that truth for her. _Please._ Cersei was a poison on my brother's mind, and I'm sure he felt a duty to protect her in what way he could. But let Brienne know she was loved. Let her open herself to love again.”

Arya nods, and Tyrion releases a breath that he's been holding, ever since he realized he would meet the Knight of Tarth again.

He inhales, and the world no longer tastes of ashes.


End file.
